


Five Times Dean Got The Cold Shoulder, And One Time He Didn't

by dimeliora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heat makes Dean crazy, and Sam is the target of that madness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Dean Got The Cold Shoulder, And One Time He Didn't

**Title:** Five Times Dean Got The Cold Shoulder, And One Time He Didn't  
 **Wordcount:** 4,713  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Pairing(s):** Sam/Dean  
 **Beta(s):** The oh so prompt and hilarious [](http://sammichgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**sammichgirl**](http://sammichgirl.livejournal.com/) , who will never experience any of these pranks from me I swear.  
 **Prompt(s):** The delightful and incredibly talented [](http://weekendship.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://weekendship.livejournal.com/)**weekendship** did a beautiful picture of House Winchester. I offered porn and she asked for heat and skinny dipping. I hope she likes the result.  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own what I built on, but I own what I built.  
 **Summary:** Heat makes Dean crazy, and Sam is the target of that madness.

 

 

1.  [Ok Go “Needing/Getting”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MejbOFk7H6c)

The heat makes Dean crazy. Well, all things about their past considered, maybe it would be better to say that heat makes what little self-control Dean has crumble into nothing. Their most legendary prank wars have always come when the sun is high and the sweat is rolling. Something about being hot, about having to fight to breathe humid and muggy air, makes Dean think that it’s time to push Sam’s boundaries.

After years of this behavior Sam has come to expect to it from Dean. To anticipate the attack and to look through anything that seems kind or innocuous. If Dean’s not acting pissed off then Sam doesn’t trust him. They’re in South Carolina hunting the Lizard Man of Lee County. The lore is long and storied, but until recently it’s mostly been the humorous fiction of drunken men. The most convincing “evidence”, until the recent sightings and deaths, belonged to a man who broke down under their questioning and admitted the damage to his car came from a fairly large deer.

At the moment they’re sitting in Harry and Harry Too’s, a backwater bar/restaurant complete with a kitschy sign promoting the Lizard Man and a wealth of the reddest red necks Sam has ever seen. Dean is talking to a man with a ridiculously heavy accent as he sips his whiskey and considers the pool table. Every few minutes Sam has to wipe at his forehead all while trying to keep his arms as down as possible.

It’s not a surprise that Dean has to handle the questioning right now, because Sam is sitting in a cloud of his own funk and stewing angrily. No one will get near him at the moment, and he doesn’t blame them. He should have known Dean would figure out how Sam had successfully avoided his pranks until this point. Should have expected that Dean would analyze his failures until he found a new approach.

That approach, as Sam has now figured out, was to make sure that Sam was woken early, rushed through getting ready, and refused caffeine until after he was already out the door and wondering why his deodorant went on so thickly this morning. Now he knows, because mixed in with the stink of his body odor is the lingering scent of the cream cheese Dean replaced his Speed Stick with. Of course Sam didn’t figure it out until they were already out in the South Carolina summer, and Dean wouldn’t let him go back to the motel to use Dean’s deodorant.

An entire day tromping through swamps that smell like gym socks, the humidity at 98% and the temperature in the triple digits, and Sam’s got an eight foot radius around him that no one will enter. He hates Dean a little bit right now.

His brother approaches, stays at a safe distance, and sniffs distastefully. “Dude, you are not bringing that stink in my baby. I’ll never get it out. You’re walking back to the motel.”

Sam manages to bite his anger down just enough to not haul off and punch Dean right here in the middle of the crowded bar. “Dean, remember that this is _your_ fault. Do you really wanna make me angrier?”

A pink tongue sweeps out across equally pink lips, and then the smirk that Dean graces Sam with is probably one of his smarmiest ever. “That hurts. It hurts that you’d think I would do something like this to you. Obviously it was just faulty deodorant Sam. We should sue. Y’know any good lawyers?”

Sam’s reasonable and totally logical response is to wait until Dean is deep into his second game of pool before slipping back to the bathrooms, going out the window, and using his spare key to start the Impala and drive off. When he gets back to the motel four hours later Dean is fuming at the edge of the bed closest to the door.

“Where the hell were you, Sam?”

Does he smirk? Of course he does. “Oh just took a little ride, saw the sights, parked in a field and took my clothes off before rubbing my stink into the upholstery.”

Dean’s ire is visibly reduced as the combination of Sam naked and the Impala floats through his head. After a moment his brother shakes himself and points a finger. “You’re paying for the cleaning fees.”

Sam laughs all the way to the shower, and then is shouting again when the soap won’t lather until he scratches the layers of clear nail polish Dean covered the bar in.

His brother seems to think it’s unfair he doesn’t get lucky that night.

 

2\. [Ok Go “Here It Goes Again”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTAAsCNK7RA)

It should have been safe. The box was taped shut, he saw Dean buy the damn things, and they’re so wrapped up in the case that Sam didn’t think Dean had even noticed the heat. Which was damn foolish all things considered because it’s August in Munford, Alabama and even the residents are complaining about the heat.

Even at midnight it’s so hot that digging up the corpses of the three children haunting the Old Foundry leaves the two of them panting thick air and dripping in sweat. Sam’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to experience heat exhaustion in the middle of the night, but nobody told Alabama that.

So it seems fine when Dean opens the candy apple box and hands Sam a cold beer. Freshly washed, victorious, and sitting right next to the little air conditioner in only his boxers Sam is ready for a celebration. Maybe afterwards he’ll lick the sticky coating off of Dean’s mouth. It’s been a while since they’ve had the energy or the inclination to do more than lazily make out.

He watches Dean bite into the first one, red already spreading messily over those lips, and the grin that crosses his face. When they were kids Dad never wanted to get candy apples because Dean had serious problems not getting covered in sugar every time. He used to watch his brother scrub at his face for long minutes in the bathroom as their dad grumbled about fingerprints on the Impala’s windows and seats.

Sam takes his own apple, tilts it to his mouth, and takes a bite.

The realization of what has just happened takes longer than it should. He chews four times before the flavor gets past the candy coating, and then Sam gags and spits the whole mess out onto the floor. Dean’s already off his chair and rolling on the floor laughing.

“An onion? An onion you asshole? Really?” On impulse Sam reaches for the apple Dean’s still clutching and Dean plays keep away. They end up rolling around on the ground with the treat skimming dangerously just above carpet level until finally the wrestling becomes something else.

Sam licks the underside of Dean’s jaw, places a bite there, and listens to his brother’s moan as the rapidly hardening cock against his thigh jerks noticeably through the thin cotton of their boxers.

He leans forward while Dean is distracted and bites into Dean’s apple getting crisp tart and sugar sweet instead of the disgusting onion. Dean makes a protesting noise but Sam rolls away with the apple clutched in his teeth and stands.

“Wait, hey, Sammy man what about-?” Dean gestures to his erection and Sam raises an eyebrow.

“I already had one thing I didn’t want in my mouth Dean. Why would I make it two?”

Dean pouts all night, and that’s probably why he doesn’t question Sam’s olive branch the next morning. He bites directly into the Boston Crème donut, and the look of betrayal and horror on his face when he spits the pastry and mayonnaise combination out is worth Dean’s epic bitching for the next three hours.

 

3\. [Ok Go “White Knuckles”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHlJODYBLKs)

Dean’s pranks usually run in themes. Sometimes the theme is simply the level of aggravation he wants to cause Sam. Other times it’s the mode in which the pranks are performed.

They’re in Tyler, Texas, known for its Wild West ghosts, and Sam thought that maybe Dean would be so enamored with all the bullshit costume wearing and ridiculous tourist nonsense that he’d be too busy to play pranks. It’s September, but Texas didn’t get the memo that Fall is supposed to be cooler and the little A/C unit in their room can’t keep up with the summer heat.

Sam’s pretty much ruled out any of the classic town legends and has moved on to more obscure things. The body count, all male, all missing their livers, has reached the double digits in the last year and there aren’t many things that go for the liver. If the wounds were messier he’d be thinking werewolf, but every cut is precise. The lack of evidence rules out a person though.

The entire day has been spent questioning local law enforcement, grieving family members, and historical re-enactors. Sam’s so tired and hot he’s pretty sure he’s melting a little, and Dean’s slouched against the wall messily eating a popsicle and staring with glazed eyes at the TV.

It’s time to do something, because if Sam can’t figure out what this thing is and soon then they’re going to burn to death. How does anyone live here?

He opens his laptop, winces at the heat coming off of it, and clicks on his web browser. When the blue screen of death pops up Sam takes a harsh breath and stares helplessly. He knows enough about computers to know the code the blue screen is giving him means hard drive death, and how he’ll afford a replacement he doesn’t know. It might be time to start the credit card scams back up.

Except Dean starts laughing, and Sam looks up from the screen to his brother’s crinkled eyes and broad purple smile. Then he looks back down at his laptop and hits the escape key. The PowerPoint slideshow ends and shows him the long list of screen captures Dean set up as slides in case Sam kept hitting buttons.

“Nice. Nice one jerk. Because the laptop isn’t absolutely crucial to us stopping people from _dying_.” Even he hates how bitchy he sounds in that moment, how low the blow is, but he can’t help it. It’s _hot_ goddamn it.

Dean licks the grape flavor off his lips as the smile dies in his eyes. “It’s just a prank Sam.”

Now that it’s started Sam can’t stop it. He slaps the laptop closed and stands sliding things into his messenger bag blindly before he storms out of the motel and gets slapped in the face by the nighttime heat.

He makes it down the street and into a diner where the air conditioning is cranked to max and Sam can finally think straight. Their Wi-Fi is slow as Hell, but Sam eventually finds what he wanted. He looks up when the waitress drops off his check and points to the screen.

“This Cherokee reservation still around?”

She makes a face and then nods. “Yeah sugar, but they ain’t a reservation. Don’t have Government sanction for that.” His ice water gets refilled and as she spins towards the next table she shoots her comment over her shoulder. “Plus, they ain’t nothin’ but troublemakers. Always drinkin’ and accusing us a being racists.”

If the history is anything to go by then the Cherokee group “squatting” on the ground promised to them probably have a case for that second part.

But what they brought with them, the trouble she seems so intent on denigrating, isn’t quite what anybody expected. Sam makes it back to the motel quickly and finds Dean sitting in a cold shower with his head in his hands.

There’s a brief instant of remorse on Sam’s part, and he sees the same thing in Dean’s eyes. Sam decides to cut Dean a break.

“Spearfinger. It’s Spearfinger. C’mon I’ll tell you all about it.” It’s the best gift he can give Dean. Avoidance.

Dean smiles as a thank you.

 

4\. [Ok Go “Get Over It”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BxfpbyV-uc)

It’s not always Dean that starts it. If Sam is fair he’s had his own run of shenanigans that date back to the early years when he thought successfully pulling off a prank would impress his older brother so much Dean would be overcome with pride. Granted, it didn’t take much to make Dean proud of Sam, but he’ll be the first to admit that logic and sibling interaction don’t usually go hand in hand.

 Artesia, New Mexico is on a river, and that’s the closest the town comes to having some sort of relief from the scorching heat of June. Sam thinks longingly of winter, snow, anything that doesn’t have to do with constantly sweating.

It’s not the kind of case that lends itself to any humor or joy. Three children are dead. The city is under a strict curfew since they were all grabbed at night and then drowned in the river. Because of that no one is taking advantage of the water and instead most people look out of windows with narrowed and suspicious eyes.

Sam has a feeling that if they weren’t carrying badges there would have been an angry lynch mob by now. There’s one kid, a little girl named Maria, who claims that she saw her friend heading towards the river with a woman in white. They’ve already ruled out the obvious answer there because the victims are not unfaithful men.

Three days in Sam has figured out that it’s a Llorona, and that if they don’t stop her she’ll simply empty the town of children. The locked doors won’t keep her out for long. Dean’s face has been stuck in scowl mode for so long Sam isn’t even sure that his brother remembers what being light-hearted is.

So he pulls a prank. Harmless at the time, nothing big, but when he heads for the local bakery for donuts Dean calls out, as always, “And don’t forget my pie!”

It takes a half hour, but Sam calls and says he ran into the sheriff and he’s asking some new questions. When he comes back he holds the box out and Dean takes it without looking up from the reports in front of him.

The woman went all out, actually put the thing in an aluminum pie pan, and Dean gives it a cursory look before digging his fork in.

It says a lot about his brother that he knows instantly from the amount of resistance that this is not pie. Dean doesn’t bother lifting the fork from inside the cake, but his lips twitch once before he releases the fork and raises the hand to give Sam the finger.

They kill the Llorona the next day, moments before she takes another small child, and Dean crows with joy. They’re all hands on the way back. Sam’s fingers are buried under the waistband of Dean’s jeans and stroking the head of his cock as he drives while Dean’s right hand is under Sam’s shirt and thumbing his nipple.

His blood boils and the heat in the air seems like a cool breeze in comparison to the building lust and need. Dean practically kicks the door down so he can keep both hands on Sam, and then he pulls back and grins broadly before jerking his chin towards the bathroom and reaching for the button on his jeans.

“In the shower Sammy. Too hot in here.”

Sam thinks of how good the cool water will feel in contrast to the heat of Dean’s hands and mouth. How slick and slippery everything will be. He practically trips over his own falling pants as he tries to strip and get in the shower before something takes this moment away from them.

The water starts up as Sam pulls his shirt off, and then his eyes lock on Dean’s hand as his brother lazily fists himself and watches Sam naked and panting.

It’s not instantly obvious that there’s a problem. Not until Sam steps into the shower and the heavy smell of chicken is everywhere. He gets doused in it, erection fading rapidly under confusion, and when he turns to see Dean laughing Sam wonders if anyone will even notice if he kills his brother.

Chicken bouillon. An entire box of it stuffed in the shower head and waiting for him.

When Sam tells him he’s lost blowjob privileges for a month Dean levels an amused stare at him. “Worth it Sammy. Never mess with a man’s pie.”

5\. [Ok Go “A Million Ways To Be Cruel”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1_CLW-NNwc)

It’s like a mini-vacation. Minus the heat. A storm rolled in that morning as they finally came up with enough context clues to put a name to the ghost, and they have to wait out the raging flood before they can head to the cemetery and dig up the body.

The crazy thing is that despite the torrential downpour it’s still muggy and hot. Sam feels like he can’t breathe when he goes outside, and it makes him start looking for new hunts much further North. Some place with a temperate climate like Alaska or Vancouver.

Dean’s not doing much better, and the sluggishness is starting to get old. His brother has barely made it off the bed since the rain started, and Sam really wants dinner. Dean doesn’t particularly care for Sam driving in this weather, but he’s not willing to go either, so they’re waiting on the world’s slowest pizza deliveryman.

The first call seems odd, but stranger things have happened. At first Sam honestly thinks it’s someone they know in trouble. The high pitched screaming is hard to understand, and Sam begs the caller to slow down and take deep breaths before they explain what kind of trouble they’re in.

Eventually the girl gets a hold of herself, and the whole thing comes out rushed and desperate. “ _So my whole life is dedicated to him and it would mean everything, like, just everything if I could go because he’d fall in love with me instantly and I’d-_ “

“Who is this?” Sam looks up to see Dean looking at him with one raised eyebrow and a look of confusion.

The high-pitched voice on the other end is still breathless and just one octave short of glass-shattering. _“Hannah. I’m calling for Bieber tickets.”_

“You have the wrong number.” Sam hangs up and shakes his head.

“Crazy fangirls Dean. All of them.”

Dean’s face speaks mass confusion but Sam doesn’t want to encourage mocking so he doesn’t explain he just shrugs and goes back to surfing the internet.

By the time the pizza man arrives Sam has gotten fifteen calls. When the storm ends three hours later they decide to wait until the ground is no longer an assured mud slide. Sam has gotten thirty calls. Each one is breathless, whiny, and desperate.

It doesn’t occur to him until they’ve returned from the cemetery and he’s had to turn his phone off to look at his browser history. Dean’s behind him mouthing at his ear and telling Sam to, “Load up something we can fuck to.”

He finds the Craigslist ad pretty easily. Free tickets for the best “biggest fan” story. His burner phone number.

Dean lets out a sharp breath when Sam’s elbow connects with his solar plexus, and then Sam stands up and leaves the room. By the time he comes back from the bar Dean is asleep, and Sam revisits his oldest and best trick.

It takes Dean a long time to disconnect his super-glued hands from the headboard, and the lost skin still doesn’t feel like it makes them equal.

**And One Time He Didn’t**

[Murder By Death “Brother”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=983uyf0BQqI)

Balmertown, Ontario is located directly next to Red Lake. It’s scenic, a favorite of tourists and currently experiencing a heat wave unlike any Canada has ever seen before. Because of the rise in temperature the authorities don’t think much about the escalating death toll. After all people come to the lake to relax, kick-back, and have a few Molsons. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that all that drinking has resulted in a number of careless deaths.

The problem with water deaths is that the number of creatures associated with them is almost endless. Sam has narrowed it down to either an Undine or a Rusalka. They’re pretty close in description, but the motivations are wildly different.

Dean’s eating the whole thing up, loving the large number of women dressed in skimpy clothes and the relaxed atmosphere. They don’t hunt outside of US lines often, and Sam’s surprised how well Dean is taking being in a foreign country. Not for the first time he thinks of all the possible trips they could make to Europe if he could just get Dean on a damn plane.

“Let’s go swimming Sammy.”

Sam narrows his eyes at the county death records and doesn’t bother to turn and take in Dean’s expression.

“Are you out of your mind? There’s something out there drowning men that fit your description and you want to go swimming?”

He hears a chuckle, and then lips press against his ear. “Come on Sam. I’ve seen how much you love the sun. You could lay out, get a few rays, and then cool off in the water with me. Wouldn’t that be fun?” His voice has dropped to a rasp, a sexual invitation clear in every word, and Sam’s always had trouble resisting that.

“Even if I would go in that water the chances of you getting me naked in a public place are slim to none. People are in that damn lake all day and night Dean.”

“Sam.” A slick swipe of Dean’s tongue over his ear. “Don’t you want to do a little skinny dipping?”

“No I want-“ he cuts off when he finds the story of the young Polish woman whose fiancé left her shortly before she walked into Red Lake and never walked out. “Rusalka. It’s a Rusalka.”

“Prude.”

After the salting and burning they do end up at the lake. Dean finds a rocky section that is uninhabited, and Sam even goes so far as to accept the swim trunks Dean hands him and spread out a towel before stretching out on it. Dean jumps into the water and immediately reverts to age twelve as he tries to splash Sam and taunt him into joining.

Dean’s right though, Sam does love to get sun, and despite the blistering heat it’s relaxing. He used to spend weekends he wasn’t working in California spread out under the sun and soaking in the rays. Listening to the laughter and the gulls as the waves slammed into the shore. Distantly he can hear other tourists laughing and shouting, but right now if he tries hard enough Sam can pretend it’s just him and Dean here.

That’s when he hears the short cry and the loud splash. Sam sits up to see nothing but water, the glare off it forcing him to squint, and then Dean’s fingers break the surface for just a second before they disappear again.

Sam doesn’t think, doesn’t consider, he just runs for the water before jumping in. Dean’s out deep enough that Sam’s feet don’t touch the bottom, and he swims quickly for his brother. The adrenaline pumps hard and heavy as his pulse kicks up to maximum overdrive and all that’s left is the voice in his head screaming Dean’s name as he cuts through the water.

He can’t see through the water properly, but his fingers brush skin and he grabs on and pulls. There’s a surprising lack of resistance. Sam thinks briefly that maybe Dean broke free first, that they must have gotten the wrong corpse, and then his feet are scrambling through the mud and the force he’s expending to jerk Dean out of danger pulls his brother flush against him.

Three things occur to him all at the same time: Dean is smiling, Dean is naked, and so is Sam. He can feel the long and lean lines of Dean’s body pressed against him. His mouth moves before his beleaguered brain can think of anything logical to say.

“Why am I naked?”

Dean presses his lips against Sam, cool and slick from the water, and then pulls back grinning broader. “I took out the seams and then re-sewed them with water-soluble thread. Surprise skinny-dipping Sammy.”

His brother looks so pleased with himself that Sam almost laughs. Hysteria is bubbling under his skin and he grabs Dean’s arms and pulls him in. He can’t even muster up the energy to be angry.

“You crazy fucker.” Sam presses kisses against Dean’s mouth, along his jaw, and then nips his brother’s earlobe and listens to the low moan. “You evil, mad, bastard.”

Water is a great thing. Sam remembers vaguely the rules about mass and density and flotation, but they’re inconsequential to how hot it is that Dean lifts Sam easily and grips under his thighs. He wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and when fingers brush the cleft of his ass Sam is hard instantly and moaning into Dean’s neck.

His brother manhandles him over to a rock and leans back against it so he can be more stable. His fingers travel lower and his thumb rubs around and around the rim of Sam’s hole as his pointer finger strokes Sam’s perineum.

“I thought you were dead Dean. I thought it had you.” He’s not making any sense as he eats at Dean’s neck, sucks bruises in the gloriously wet and tasty skin. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Not before I ram yours.” It’s cheesy, porn dialogue for sure, but Sam moans in response and Dean rewards his reaction by sliding his thumb in. From there it’s some of the hottest prep Sam’s ever had without friction on his cock. They rock with the motion of the water, Sam’s legs tightening and releasing around Dean’s waist as his brother fingers him open.

Once Sam is loose enough Dean manages a minor miracle and lines himself up before thrusting in. Sam loses his breath for a second, and then his hands scrabble at rock before his fingers find a small ledge. He does mini pull-ups to help Dean, and his brilliant asshole brother uses this so that he can wrap a hand around Sam’s neglected cock.

In the distance he can still hear those families having innocent outings, splashing into the lake, throwing frisbees, and generally being completely ignorant that the older Winchester brother is fucking the younger’s brains out just a few yards away.

Dean bites into Sam’s pec and his fingers slip off the rock and land on Dean’s shoulder. He can’t get his arm back up because Dean’s cock is hitting his prostate now and his hand is twisting and squeezing, and Sam can’t make motor functions work. A stream of filth spills from his lips demanding Dean to go harder, faster, to really fuck him, and Dean responds to the constructive criticism positively.

When Sam finally re-opens his eyes what he sees makes him blow his load in the same unexpected and too fast way he did the first time Dean went down on him. His brother’s freckled face is dripping water and speaking devotion, droplets clinging and shining on his long lashes, eyes gold and green slowly subsumed by black, and his lips are the picture of debauchery from Sam’s teeth and kisses.

Sam twists and turns on Dean’s cock, orgasm riding him mercilessly, and then he goes limp in Dean’s arms as his brother thrusts into his pulsing channel a few more times before going off himself.

For a long time they stay that way, Sam’s forehead pressed against Dean’s shoulder and Dean holding him up and still inside. Eventually he slips off with a sharp hiss and floats in the water looking at Dean’s pleased post-orgasm smirk.

“See Sammy? Public nudity is totally worth it.”

Later they’ll argue about whether or not what Sam does next counts as attempted murder, but the spluttering indignation when he finally lets Dean up is totally worth it.  



End file.
